Chapter Text
Alya’s always dreamed big.
She wanted to be a unicorn for years until her parents finally broke down and told her that was impossible.
“You can’t just become something you’re not,” they said, and 5 year old Alya pouted.
“But what if I’m a unicorn inside and you just don’t know it?” she huffed, crossing her arms. Her mom laughed and kissed her forehead.
“You may not be a unicorn,” she brushed Alya’s curly hair off of her forehead, “but that doesn’t mean you’re not special.” She smiled softly, “Alya, you are the most amazing girl in the entire world.
And Alya believed her.
Well…sort of. Alya knew that she wasn’t the most amazing girl in the world, but she agreed that she was pretty damn great, and anyone who didn’t think so could go fuck themselves.
So Alya’s dreams, though still big, shifted and transformed, scientist to superhero to dog whisperer to teacher and finally, when she was thirteen, when her journalism teacher handed her a pen and a pad of paper and told her that she had the makings of a great reporter, a world-renowned journalist.
So she wrote and she wrote and she became editor of her middle school paper, writing and editing reviews and op-eds into the early morning. And don’t even get her started on her Tumblr, her follower count had skyrocketed when she started making text posts and theories about her favorite superheroes. And when she moved to Paris, none of that changed.
She blogged, she wrote, she signed up for the school newspaper, but when two actual, real-life superheroes showed up, all of that became null because she had the Ladyblog and a insatiable thirst for answers.
***
Alya had always thought of herself as observant, and she was. Any good journalist had to be. So, it wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed Marinette disappeared a lot with fishy excuses, it was more that…though she always had that buzz in the back of her mind, that need to know, friends came first. And who’s to say that this wasn’t what Marinette normally did, because though they became close fast, they hadn’t actually known each other for that long. They’d only met at the beginning of last school year. Besides, if Marinette was involved in drug dealing, had a secret boyfriend, was actually Ladybug, was having an illicit affair with Chat Noir, was a secret popstar, was in a gang, was an illegal breakdancer, etcetera, she would tell Alya when she felt ready.
So she went along with normal life, pretending she believed Marinette’s excuses, blogging, helping Marinette with her crush on mister shy, blonde supermodel, chasing after Ladybug and Chat Noir, glaring at Chloe, writing for the school paper, pretending she didn’t notice Nino’s bumbling advances, etcetera.
Marinette’s wild hand gestures snapped Alya out of her thoughts.
“You okay?” She tilted her head and smiling, but small bits of worry creased the corners of her eyes and drew her brows together. Alya almost groaned, that girl as too cute for her own good.
“Yeah, fine,” Alya waved her hand and pushed up her glasses, “so tell me,” she continued, “what did Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Handsome say when you asked him to study in the library?”
Marinette’s smile dropped away and she slouched in her chair. “He said he had a photo shoot at lunch, but that maybe we could get together another time,” Marinette sighed and her lower lip stuck out in a pout.
Alya put her hand on Marinette’s shoulder and used the other to brush her hair out of her face. “He probably was really busy,” she said, looking Marinette straight in her wide eyes, “he’s not just using this as an excuse to not hang out with you.” She brushed her thumb against Marinette’s cheek, “If that boy doesn’t have at least a small crush on you he’s crazy.”
Marinette’s eyes widened before she looked away, laughing nervously. “Yeah right,” she cleared her throat, “So what’s new on the Ladyblog?” Alya patted the side of Marinette’s head and drew her hands away, allowing her the subject change.
“Well…” she began.
***
Alya could fill up hours, maybe days with all she had to say about Ladybug. She was passionate, and as her mom always said, when she was passionate about something no one could stop her.
“I’m going out,” Alya called to her dad as she walked out the door. She had a couple articles to work on and her favorite place for that was at the cafe by her house. It’s pastries weren’t as good as the Dupain’s, but if she went there she’d just get pulled into the excitable whirlwind that was Marinette. So she walked a few blocks down to Boulangerie Matin.
It was nice out, so it wasn’t as if walking was a pain. The wind blew her hair out of her face and the sun warmed the back of her coat. Fall was by far her favorite season, not just because it was red (her favorite color, and the color of her favorite superhero), but because it was the season of her birthday. Marinette was probably hard at work on her present already, Alya thought fondly. No matter how busy she was, that girl always made time to do nice things for people.
A tinkling bell sounded as Alya walked through the door of the small cafe. The smell of sweet espresso and buttery croissants rolled over her like a warm hug as she walked the door and as she walked up to the counter she thanked the powers that be that there was only a few people in line in front of her. The smell of pastries made her realize how hungry she was. She scrolled through Twitter as she waited, checking the Ladybug tag, there were no new akumas luckily — Alya had never missed an attack, and she wouldn’t start now — but there was some new fanart. Alya smiled as she scrolled through them and retweeted a couple, and sending messages to a couple to ask about posting them on the Ladyblog.
“The regular?” Asked the cashier, jarring Alya out of her thoughts. She looked up quickly, blinking and nodding.
“Oh, um, yeah.”
The cashier nodded, wringing her up, and Alya handed over her debit card absentmindedly, her mind already on her blog.
Alya sat down at her normal table and pulled out her tablet, quickly scrolling through the new submissions page of the blog. Fan art, fan art, fanfic, a couple interesting theories (which Alya posted), and some throwaway hate. Alya didn’t really understand she got hate, if people didn’t like her blog, why did they read it?
She sighed and looked into her inbox, noticing she had a new message. Alya's eyes moved quickly back and forth across the page. It was a detailed map of pictures and articles, drawn arrows pointing and information typed, information leading back to 5 years ago, and at the bottom, in bold, bright red letters: Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth.